The Red Death
by tarien en' ohta
Summary: Directly inspired by NCIS. Read to follow the rescue mission of a missing CIA operative held captive by the so called Sons of Aaron. A short story.
1. Chapter 1

**The Red Death**

**A Short Story**

**Written May 1-3, 2009**

**Chapter One: A Silent Cry**

0200 HRS Eastern Standard Time (EST)

April 21, 2018

Near Rock Creek Park, Washington D.C.

She stared at the surveillance photos spread out on the table before her. Terror ran through her mind. A cold sense of calm followed, and she found herself detached from the situation. It was time to call in a favor. Time to involve a man she'd avoided for years.

Even so, with the necessity screaming in her head, her hand hesitated over the phone. The man standing behind her placed a warm hand on her shoulder.

"You can do it Cynthia. I know he won't say no. He can't, not now."

The cold numbing her body didn't go away. She picked up the phone and dialed a number she'd used so often in the past.

One ring. She held her breath.

Two rings.

Three rings.

"Hello?"

She exhaled.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Mark, wait, don't hang up."

"What do you want Cynthia?"

"Your help. I can't discuss it over the phone. Meet me at O'Malley's in an hour."

She could almost hear the thoughts and memories running through his mind.

"Don't be late or I'll leave."

The line went dead and she set the phone down on the table. She leaned over it, her face pressing into the glossy pictures.

"Dan, we'll need the sedan."

"Got it."

He left her in the room. His training dictated that they should be handling this "in-house," his implicit trust in Cynthia told him this was the right way.

She watched his retreating form, noting the tension in his shoulders and his stiff walk. He had only been this anxious one other time in the fifteen years he'd been her personal bodyguard and assistant. The last time he was like this, they'd both been staring death in the face.

0230 HRS EST, Georgetown, Washington D.C.

The ride through D.C. in the pitch black was silent. The wheelers and dealers that ran America were all behind locked doors, supposedly sleeping.

From the back seat, she stared at the monuments and office buildings of the city. Other than her birthplace, this was the only place she'd ever felt at home. The city and its nearby agency had welcomed her with open arms after Iraq. They'd given her a purpose again.

Protection, manipulation, and information control were her specialties and she used her skills well. Memories of emerald fields, a man, and pain flashed through her mind. Before she could continue in her thoughts, the car stopped. Dan looked over his shoulder at her.

"Three blocks down. No one tailed us. Want me to follow you in or circle the block?"

"Circle, I'll be fine. Mark won't do anything."

"Not him I'm worried about, Cyn."

"I know, Dan. Trust me. I'll be okay. Tomorrow is when you need to worry about me."

She opened the door and stepped into the cool, D.C. night. Summer would soon arrive and the heat would increase tempers and tourists. Now the city was peaceful and vulnerable to scandal.

She quickly walked the three blocks to the backwater pub. Dan followed slowly in the car until she stepped inside. The smell of smoke, peanuts, and stale beer hit her nostrils and sent her mind to Dublin.

Not speaking to anyone, she took a booth in the back of the room. A waitress appeared seconds later, her thick West Virginia accent making Cynthia smile.

"Anything I can get you tonight Ma'am?"

"A bottle of Jack please. No ice in the glass."

"Alright, I'll be back with that."

"Thank you."

She glanced at her watch as the girl walked away. She was fifteen minutes early. Mark always showed up ten minutes in advance. The waitress returned with two glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels. Cynthia looked at her curiously.

"How did you know?"

"I work in a D.C. bar Ma'am. I can tell when someone is waitin' for another person to arrive."

Cynthia smiled at the girl.

"Thank you…"

"Rita, mom's a huge fan of Rita Hayworth."

"Thank you Rita."

The girl smiled and sauntered off into the haze, drunken men calling out to her as she passed. Cynthia poured herself a glass of her home-state's whiskey and quickly drank it. Another glass followed, but she nursed this one for the few minutes it took for Mark to arrive.

He paused at the door long enough to find her in the dimly lit bar. When he did, he walked briskly towards her. The look in his eyes was one of confusion and determination.

"Take a seat Mark."

He slid into the seat across from her and leaned forward. She slid the other glass of whiskey towards him. They stared for a moment, searching for any sign of weakness. He turned away first, taking a long swallow of his drink.

"Why'd you call Cyn?"

"I need your help."

"So you said. What with?"

"One of my agents has gone missing."

"Define 'Missing' Cynthia. You work for the CIA."

"Her cover was blown during a Black Op in Ireland. We believe the group she was attempting to infiltrate has kidnapped her."

"Why do you need me?"

"You've got partial jurisdiction here and I need you to run a phony investigation into her disappearance while we go in and get her back. I can't do it openly."

"Again, why me?"

"You're on the short list of people I can trust with this."

"Lucky me. So what is she to make CID have jurisdiction? A Ranger, Green Beret, what? You guys don't take just anyone."

"She's a Green Beret. She joined us as a liaison, once she was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel."

"Sounds like you."

"She should. She's my daughter."

He suddenly relaxed his tense posture and fixed her with a stare that would have intimidated her twelve years earlier.

"Why didn't you tell me Cynthia?"

"She was living with my brother when I met you. It was all classified and you didn't need to know."

"Of course I didn't. Because an Air Force Brigadier General Intelligence Officer turned spook has her entire life classified. Am I right?"

"Essentially. She was just a little girl then and I had just returned to active participation in my unit. I didn't see much of her. It was safer that way."

"I'm sure. Who's her father?"

"That is part of our problem. It's also why I need the investigation to come from CID. We've got a mole in our unit and I want a blanket over the rescue mission to keep prying eyes distracted, while we extract Brannagh."

"Unusual name means 'Raven' in Gaelic doesn't it?"

"Her father named her for his mother."

"Mmm…How deep undercover were you when she was born?"

"Deep enough."

He searched, in vain, for any signs of deceit. Finding none, he finished off his third glass of Jack. A few moments of silence fell between them, ending when Mark stood from the table.

"Come in tomorrow. I'll have a team ready and Vincent fighting off the spooks. Need to know basis only, of course. Dan still work for you?"

She nodded, not looking at him, as she filled her fifth glass.

"I'll need all your files for Kate to go through."

"You'll have them. My security clearance is higher than Clinton's, a fact she does not like since I'm a deputy director and she's the President."

"Of course it is, Tell Dan I said to have an answer to that question I asked him twelve years ago. He'll know what I mean."

Without another word, he marched out of the bar. Cynthia sat at the table a few minutes longer. Once the bottle reached the halfway point, she stood and dropped a C-note on the table. Picking up a pen from the next table over, she scribbled a note to Rita on her napkin. "Keep up your studies at Georgetown. I hope to hear your name more often in the future." She left the bar as quietly as she entered, with the bottle of whiskey in hand.

Dan flashed the lights of the sedan a block away and she quickly strode off into the night. Once inside the car, Dan turned to look at her.

"He agree?"

"He did."

"You never told him about Bran did you?"

"No, he didn't need to know."

"She'll be fine Cyn. I've known that girl for fifteen years. She won't let that bastard break her."

"That's not what worries me Dan. With her cover blown, he'll recognize her as my daughter. He'll know and he'll use that against her, just as he used her against me twenty-two years ago."

"She knows what to do Cynthia."

"I'm glad you're so confident, Danny."

"Me too. You plan; I provide confidence; it's the way we work."

"Stealing quotes from Mark now?"

He grinned and shifted the car into gear. Soon they were on their way to Langley. Dan intentionally took the long route across the Potomac, checking for anyone who might be tailing them. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he saw the mask of calm indifference gone from Cynthia's face.

"What did he say, Cynthia."

"Nothing overtly helpful as usual."

"Exactly. What did he say for me?"

"Just that you need to have an answer for the question he asked you twelve years ago."

"Really?"

"Don't sound surprised, he's cryptic on a good day."

"Not what I meant. The answer he wants hasn't changed."

"Do I want to ask?"

"Probably not."

"Then let me think in peace. I have a bottle of Jack to finish off and a plan to formulate."

He grinned and, hitting the gas, pulled onto George Washington Parkway. The sun would rise in a few hours and they had very little time to access the office at Langley before their mole acquired useful information.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Lying and Dying**

0800 HRS EST

April 23, 2018

Army Criminal Investigation Division Headquarters

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

Special Agent Mark Hammond stormed into Director Timothy Vincent's office, blood on his mind.

"What do you think you're doing? The spooks were supposed to be kept out of this and there are three of them crawling around my crisis room. Did you misunderstand the importance of this operation?"

Vincent didn't react. Not a single muscle twitched throughout his boxer's body. He glanced behind Hammond. Mark turned to see Cynthia Callahan and Daniel Tagaretti sitting at the Director's conference table.

"Now that you understand the extra CIA personnel were brought in by Ms. Callahan, maybe you three can explain why I was awakened at 0400 hours yesterday morning and why I have spent the last twenty-four hours arguing with the CIA director over jurisdiction on a classified Black Op mission."

Mark and Dan looked at Cynthia expectantly. Vincent took a seat at the head of the table and followed suit.

"Sit down Mark. I'll assume you want the short version."

Dan gave her an encouraging smile.

"This story as it pertains to our current dilemma, started twenty-six years ago."

"Twenty-six?"

The Director glared at Hammond, who didn't interrupt any further.

"Yes, twenty-six, years. I had just finished my fifth tour abroad, the last being my third Iraqi tour. Desert Storm was over. As is typical for Intelligence officers in every branch, I underwent my required Psychological Evaluation. The shrink diagnosed me with borderline Post-Traumatic Stress disorder. Command didn't want to discharge me; apparently, I was more of an asset than I believed. They promoted me to Colonel at age Twenty-five and reassigned me as a special Air Force liaison with the CIA. My uncle, James, had just made Deputy Director, so he arranged for me to be placed in the Anti-Arms Dealing unit. He figured I'd be safer there than in the Anti-Terrorism unit, I currently lead."

She stood and poured herself a shot of the Director's Bourbon. She knocked it back and then took her seat once more, a water bottle in hand.

"I worked the unit for six years, four of which were undercover. At the end of my first year, a tip came in from Interpol. A new player was on the arms market. He was former IRA and no one knew anything except his name, Michael McGuire. He got big fast. Soon he had links with every major terrorist organization in the world, especially Al Qaeda. He also gained a reputation for unnecessary brutality.

"The unit decided to send two operatives deep undercover in a group McGuire was known to supply in Germany. I would be sent in first, posing as an American student who'd been bouncing around the continent between anarchist groups. Three months later, Sam Kaufmann followed me in, posing as a freelance bomb maker looking for work. The group we infiltrated was in Berlin, comprised of local youths playing at being terrorists. I went under in March of 1992. Sam and I worked separately within the group, finding ways to gain authority and reputations within the group. By December, my 'punishment' of a snitch within the group earned me an audience with a group in Munich. It was a successful Neo-Nazi organization led by three WWII veterans. I was hired as an Information Controller and Weapons buyer. I suggested Sam as an explosives expert and they took him as well.

"We stayed in those positions until November of '93. By then McGuire had met with us six times to supply the group. The seventh time we were going to take him down. He changed his plans at the last minute and arranged for me to meet him, alone, at a restaurant. McGuire offered me a position in his own organization as a gun-for-hire. My handler let me follow my gut and two days later, I left Germany for Ireland and found myself in a rural estate two hours outside Dublin. I became McGuire's personal assassin and guard, knocking off anyone who crossed him. Soon, he was also hiring out my services around the world, under the code name Red Death."

Vincent stopped her.

"That was you? You assassinated sixty-seven people in two years."

"Seventy-nine, Tim. McGuire gave me the nickname because I didn't leave any bodies, only blood at the scene. My only rule was this, no innocents. All of my employers, even the Nazis, respected this. They appreciated my skill. Six months into my new position in McGuire's organization, he did something completely unexpected."

She paused and took a long drink of water to soothe her suddenly dry throat. Taking a deep breath, she continued.

"He proposed to me. My handler told me to make a decision, continue the Op or pull out. McGuire and I married in July of 1994. He knew me as Colleen McDonough, so I became Colleen McGuire. My cover was almost blown soon after by my Grandmother living in Dublin. She saw my picture in the local paper and came out to the estate, asking for Cynthia O'Brien, my mother's dead twin sister and my namesake. The name was part of a code she'd developed for us in my childhood. She would say the name and I would respond with my correct name and explain my situation to her in our own form of sign language. Gram was ex-MI6, so she became my go-between with my Handler. I would visit her once a week and pass along all the Intel I had in code. Michael wrote it off as kindness to an old confused lady. He was used to the disparities in my personality."

She paused once more and took a sip of water.

"The problems dominoed a year later. First, despite all efforts to the contrary, I fell in love with McGuire. Second, he began to be suspicious of me. Third, I got pregnant. My handler decided it was time to pull me out and take McGuire down simultaneously. One month after I gave birth, he staged a raid on one of Michael's warehouses while a team was supposed to extract me from my Gram's house in Dublin. The plan went South as the team sent to extract me were made by one of the people Michael had watching me. They were all killed."

"Michael decided to punish me and torture for information. I was beaten for two days. He threatened to harm Brannagh, our child, if I didn't tell him anything. Luckily, my handler discovered where we were being held, and personally led the team that rescued us. McGuire slipped away and fell off the grid. My handler had me transported to Spain where I stayed in a hospital for three months. Once stateside, the Air Force promoted me to Brigadier General, awarded me the Air Force Cross to go with my three Purple Hearts, and promptly gave me an honorable discharge. The CIA set me up as an agent in the Anti-Terrorism unit. I bought a house near Rock Creek and raised Brannagh there. I refused to go undercover again until she turned ten. She lived with my brother in Memphis whenever I went on an extended op. If it was short, she stayed in the house, with Dan as her guardian."

She paused to take a drink and collect herself.

"Brannagh enrolled at Princeton, at age sixteen and joined the Army after she graduated at age eighteen.

She was instantly sent to the Green Berets. A year ago, at the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, she became a liaison with my unit. Six months ago, we received a tip from Russia that McGuire had resurfaced on their radar after ten years. He was seen making a deal with a high-ranking North Korean military official. The Director deemed McGuire a terrorist and gave me the case because of my familiarity. We sent three agents under; all three were made within a week. I had no other choice, but to send Brannagh in three months ago."

She pulled a set of pictures out of her bag and laid them, in order, in front of Vincent and Hammond. The two men looked at each one, horrified to see Brannagh Callahan being tortured while tied between two trees in a forest. As the sequence continued, they saw a car arrive. Three men exited and killed the two men torturing the girl. They untied Brannagh and placed her inside the car. The last picture showed one of the men looking skyward and waving, a smile on his face.

"These came from one of our satellites monitoring Europe. I received them two days ago and then called you."

Mark looked up from the pictures.

"I take it that the man waving is McGuire?"

Cynthia, transfixed with the pictures, ignored him. Dan answered instead.

"He is. Someone in our unit is a mole. They leaked info to McGuire's people. The two dead guys are who McGuire hired to replace Cynthia. They were vital assets to him. Their deaths mean that he knows Brannagh's identity. If we don't get her out of there, we'll never see her again."

Tim stared at Cynthia.

"Would he harm her?"

She looked up from the pictures.

"No. Michael wouldn't lay a hand on her. It's his second in command who'd consider it. Shannon O'Conner. He's always been a mean bastard." Her eyes fell on the pictures once more. "I shouldn't have sent her in. She's not cut out for this."

Hammond stared at her, realizing that she never got over McGuire. Or at least what he'd done to her.

"You did right Cynthia. She's your daughter, if anything he should be worried for his life. Brannagh's a Green Beret and she's already made Lieutenant Colonel. They don't hand that rank out to the Berets."

"Thank you Mark. I'm just afraid O'Conner might use Bran as a tool to get revenge against me for things I did while undercover."

The Director clenched his jaw. The political consequences of his next action would be career changing. He studied the only three people in D.C. he considered friends. Anything he did could cost them their lives or their sanity.

"You've got CID's cooperation, Cynthia. Any idea on who your mole is?"

"One and it should be an easy catch."

"Timetable?"

"If Michael still works the way I remember we've got four days tops."

Mark let out a low whistle.

"Four days? Damn. Where would he take her?"

"The one place he's always felt safe, the family estate. It's also the one place we couldn't touch twenty-two years ago."

"Your way in?"

"I'll take one person with me and we'll walk through the front door."

"Bold. Why wouldn't he just kill you on spot?"

"Pride. He believes he's invincible in that house. And I have a sneaking suspicion that he still loves me."

All three men diverted their eyes away from her, each one thinking of a woman they'd have killed for once upon a time. The Director's memory of his first date with his wife ended and he cleared his throat.

"Who are you taking?"

She stood up and walked to the door. Opening it, she looked over her shoulder.

"The mole."

She closed the door, walked past Vincent's secretary, and through the next set of doors to the balcony overlooking the crisis room. Her people immediately noticed her watching them. The CID agents were less obvious in their apprehension. Hammond and Vincent had taught them well. Dan joined her as she stood against the stair railing.

"You know I trust you right?"

"Yes, Danny, I do. Why is another story."

"That it is. Is this wise, taking the mole with you?"

"No it is not. That's why I'm doing it. It's necessary to throw Michael and Shannon off. They won't kill me if they think I'll tempt them with a better offer. Shannon especially knows the lengths I'm willing to go to. If Michael hadn't stopped me twenty-three years ago, Shannon would be six feet under in a green pasture on his beloved isle."

"Why did he?"

"They're half brothers. Their father didn't care which side of The Troubles he slept on and Michael was born out of wedlock in Northern Ireland. His mother died when he was a baby and then both boys were raised at the family estate. Michael was the favorite. There's some residual resentment left in Shannon for that."

"Is that right?"

Both of them turned to find Mark standing behind them. He fixed a stare on Dan.

"Got that answer little brother?"

"Yeah I do. Same one I gave you twelve years ago. Yes."

Mark glanced at Cynthia. Only someone who'd known her for years would notice the subtle signs of aging on her body. A touch of gray highlighted strands of her light auburn hair. A laugh line and crow's food slightly more pronounced. A hint of weariness in her eyes. He turned his eyes back on his younger stepbrother.

"I'll take your word for it Danny. How's mom?"

"Fighting me and the nurses every chance she gets. She asks about you."

"I'll visit her with you once this mess is over. Hell it's her birthday next month anyway."

"That it is. Now, can you tell us who's on your team?"

The three turned to look down on the room once more. Mark pointed out a woman furiously arguing with someone over the phone.

"Maria de Lamana, Spanish Intelligence officer on loan to us. She's got contacts everywhere. She's probably calling them to find out your girl's location."

He gestured towards a glass door at the right side of the room. A woman could be seen running back and forth behind it.

"In there is Ms. Kate Lageneau, our forensics tech, you remember her. She'll be following your mole's trail through your files."

A ding at the far end of the room brought their attention to the two people exiting the elevator.

"Those two complete our team. The older gentleman is Dr. John Bard. With him is my senior agent, Captain Anthony Torelli. Yes, Dan, those Torelli's."

Mark turned his head towards the only spooks left living that he tolerated. Cynthia shook her head, rolled her eyes, and then began to point out the members of her own team.

"The man now arguing with your Ms. de Lamana is Lieutenant Ali Tariq on loan from Naval Intelligence. The two women speaking with Dr. Bard are my explosives and weapons expert, Emily Dawson, the blonde, and Anne Garn our tech woman. Then there's Brannagh obviously and," the elevator dinged once more, "ah, there he is."

A man stepped out. His eyes immediately found Cynthia's and he stopped for a second before rushing towards his fellow teammates.

"That is Liam Brown, Brannagh's partner. He just got off a Red-Eye from Switzerland. Wasn't exactly happy with me when I made him stop searching for Bran in-field and come home."

Dan scoffed.

"He called you everything short of Satan. The only reason he got on the plane is because you threatened to come get him yourself."

Mark studied each of the team members, looking for anything out of the ordinary for spooks. Cynthia stepped back from the rail and made for the stairs. The two men followed her.

"Mark, have you got a private room for us?"

"Yep."

He caught Tony's attention and gestured for him to open the room up. Cynthia called everyone's attention.

"Grab everything and follow me."

Tony reappeared and seeing everyone coming his way he tipped off Kate in the lab. They grabbed all pertinent evidence and followed the group of people to the room Tony opened.

0930 HRS EST

Once they were all set up and seated around the table, Dan stood up.

"Alright everyone. As you know Callahan's cover was blown and McGuire has her. We, with the help of CID, are going to get her back. It's likely they're holding her in the estate house. Two members of our team are going in to get her, backed up by CID."

Liam slammed his fist on the table.

"Good, I volunteer. When do we leave?"

Cynthia stopped Dan from responding.

"Liam, you won't be going. I need you here. If something goes wrong, you're the only one who knows how to erase our trail as we escape. You'll get help from Kate on that. Okay? Now, please, calm down," He opened his mouth, "and don't interrupt again."

He slumped in his chair. Dan waited a second then continued.

"Alright, the two agents, according to plan, will be able to walk right in the front door. From there they will find Bran and pull her out at the first opportunity. No wires. No weapons. I'll be in charge on this end. Agent Hammond will be in-field with two of his people to provide protection."

Dawson raised her hand.

"Sir, who exactly is going and how are they expected to just waltz in the front doors."

Cynthia grinned at the girl as Dan deferred to her.

"The two agents going are myself and Garn. We're going to walk in because McGuire suffers under his own pride. He's also Brannagh's father and he'll use her as a way to taunt me. He already is."

Everyone except for Mark, Dan, and Liam sucked in a breath. Cynthia ignored them and continued.

"I apologize for not telling you sooner. My life has been highly classified since I entered the military. Only Liam needed to know, so he's the only one I was allowed to tell."

Dawson let a tear slide down her cheek.

"He wouldn't hurt either one of you, would he?"

Cynthia smiled at the young agent once more.

"No, Emily, he wouldn't hurt Bran. I'm a different story. But let me handle that okay? I need you to do what you do best on this end for me. Do what I asked you this morning and I can guarantee we'll come home safe."

The young woman nodded her head and clenched her fists under the table. Cynthia nodded her head at Mark, who stood to address the group.

"Our job is to make this mission appear as routine as possible. Like a normal investigation. Kate have a few of the junior agents go to Callahan's house and 'look' for any clue as to her whereabouts. Cynthia has already filed a missing persons report with Metro. When you are done with that, help Tariq and Brown work their magic. Maria, Tony, you two are going in field with me. Doctor, you will be on stand by; if you feel anyone here needs your help feel free to do so. You are our buffer agent."

Everyone stood to rush away, but Cynthia stood and stopped them.

"No mistakes people. Account for disaster and it becomes a nuisance instead of a problem. If you need a break, take it. I don't want anyone at anything less than 110% Alright?" They all nod their heads. "My people, you know your duties. Get to it."

Her people all gave a quick, simultaneous, "Yes boss," while the CID agents nod in agreement. She waved them off and everyone rushed from the room. Cynthia sank into her chair again, and looked up when someone cleared their throat.

"Yes, Anne?"

"Ma'am you didn't tell me anything this morning when you called."

"Oh, I'm sorry Anne. We'll leave in about three hours. Get us two of the carryon kits. No computers. No phones. No weapons. We're going in dark on this one."

"Yes Ma'am. Do you want the loud kits?"

"Loud. Now off you go."

"Yes Boss."

The young woman hurried from the room. Cynthia rested her head in her hands. Dan placed a cup of coffee in front of her and a hand on her shoulder, aware of his brother's studious stare.

"Drink this Cyn; you'll pass out soon if you don't. Come on." She sat up and took a sip. "Good, now I'm going to get us some food. You haven't eaten since yesterday."

She nod her head feebly and he left the room. Mark took a seat next to her. Cynthia felt him staring and lifted her head to look at him.

"What?"

"Do you know what I asked Dan twelve years ago?"

"No."

"I asked him if he planned on marrying you."

She looked into her steaming cup.

"There's a ring tan on your finger Cyn. I can't be the only one who's noticed."

"Usually I have makeup on it. No one notices."

"How long?"

"Twelve years."

Mark leaned back and shook his head.

"Damn. How have you two survived this long?"

"He's my personal guard as well as my second-in-command for the unit. It's expected of him to stay at my house for days at a time. He maintains an apartment in Georgetown and no one but Bran ever sees us together as a couple."

"Not what I meant dammit."

"We haven't done any ops in eight years. Not since I was promoted. My superiors think he's sleeping with Dawson. My team thinks he's sleeping with a computer specialist down the hall from our offices."

"How's he handling this plan of yours?"

"You're his brother, Mark, you tell me."

"Very well, he's doing very well. He considers Bran his own, that's easy to see, and you Cyn, well, he's killed for you. He even threatened me if you remember."

"How could I forget? I never did apologize for that by the way."

"Apology accepted. I should have known better anyways. Tim warned me. I didn't listen. I was infatuated with you."

"Yes, and I was in a state of denial the size of Texas. I transferred feelings from one brother to the other and nearly lost you both."

"When did you two get married?"

"The day after we left. I called in a favor with a judge in Memphis."

"Does my mother know?"

"Yes, but no one believes her since she's in the early stages of Alzheimer's."

"Small favors. Is it really that bad?"

"Yes. She's fighting it though. Got her doctor to sign her up for the new experimental treatments. Danny's worried despite the stoicism you two are famous for."

"Speaking of hidden feelings, what about McGuire?"

She sighed and clenched her jaw.

"I was totally devoted to him. I almost went rogue for him."

"What changed?"

"Shannon. He came back after a six-year hiatus in Russia and took a dislike to me that turned to hatred quickly. Michael listened to his opinions of me at first, but when I got pregnant, he ignored Shannon. Near the end of the pregnancy, though, he followed me to my Gram's house and listened to us. She asked me to stay with her until the baby was born. Michael heard her and. being the jealous bastard he, is he became suspicious of my every action. After Bran was born and the extraction failed, he let Shannon interrogate me. When Frank found me, he took one look at me and nearly beat Shannon to death. Michael showed up with Bran, saw what was happening and shot Frank. He left Bran in the slaughterhouse and pulled Shannon out. Frank pulled me out of that room with a detached cornea, six broken fingers, one dislocated shoulder, three skull fractures, a shattered femur, four broken ribs, and a punctured lung. I died twice on scene. When my heart stopped a third time, they iced my body. Once they got me to Spain, they reset all my bones, replaced my femur with a steel one, fixed my lung, and transplanted a kidney. Then they revived me."

"I should have guessed you had a bone replaced, you never go through metal detectors. As for Frank, I always wondered how he got that limp."

"Well, he personally made sure he would be my handler. He is my father after all. Did you expect anything less out of him? The only reason he didn't go after Michael later was because I made him promise he wouldn't."

"You didn't break did you?"

"No. I didn't. Shannon wasn't the interrogator for a reason. That skill was reserved for Michael and me."

"What did McGuire expect to learn from you?"

Dan suddenly entered the room with two bags. He set them down on the table next to Cynthia and then slammed his fist down.

"He wanted nothing out of her. Cynthia, you have to let me go instead. I'm not letting either of those bastards get that close to you."

She shook her head and reached for his hand. He recoiled from her touch.

"Dan they'd kill you. I was already punished, Mike will let me in."

"Will he let you go again?"

She pulled on of the bags towards her and pulled out a Chinese take-out box and a pair of chopsticks. Mark saw the fury in his brother's eyes and placed a hand on Cynthia's arm.

"Cynthia. Answer him."

She looked up, tears running down her face. Dan's severe look softened for a split-second. Mark stood and pulled her into a hug. She sobbed and leaned against him. Dan's look didn't change, but the anger in his eyes faltered for a few seconds under his brother's glare. Mark knelt to the ground and lifted Cynthia's chin.

"Cyn, where is that indestructible resolve of yours? I've read your file. I've seen you in worse situations than this. Now take a breath and answer Danny before he has an aneurysm."

He stood and walked around the table to stand next to his brother. Placing a hand on Dan's shoulder, he forced him to take a seat. Cynthia's long hair had partially come out of her bun and the tresses blocked most of her face. She pulled out the rest and wiped her face with a tissue. She took a deep breath and pulled her hair back into a bun once more.

Dan continued to stare at her, waiting for some sort of answer. When she finally looked at him, there was a ferocity in her eyes he'd seen on one other occasion. She'd slowly dismembered a man for six days the last time that look appeared. He dared not look away.

"You want an answer Danny? I don't know what Michael will do once he has me again. But if he thinks that he can hurt me anymore than he did twenty-two years ago, then he'll be on the wrong side of the Red Death. He should never have given me that name. It was too inspiring."

Both men barely concealed shudders, but each grabbed food and began discussing the fine details of the plan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: The Sons of Aaron**

1300 HRS EST

April 23, 2018

Private Hangar

Dulles International Airport, Washington D.C.

Capt. Tony Torelli and his partner, Maria de Lamana, stared at the two small jets before them. Years of working with CID had made them used to jump seats on cargo planes. This was a decided change. Hammond smacked the back of their heads as he walked towards the jet on the left.

"Come on you two."

"On your six, Sarge."

They grabbed their gear off the ground and jogged to catch up. Maria glanced behind her as Tony climbed into the plane. She noticed the two women walking towards the other jet and whispered to Tony.

"Separate planes mean one of two things. A mole or that their going solo."

Before Tony could respond, Hammond poked his head through the plane door.

"Or, it could be both Maria. Now haul ass you two."

They ran up the stairs and into the plane. Hammond exited as they set up their gear inside. Cynthia met him at the nose of the jet.

"You three are going to fly up to Boston and pick up a large package. Then you'll fly on to Dublin. Our jet is going to fly nonstop. We should arrive in six hours, you in ten. That puts us about four hours apart. If I'm right, Ms. Mole has already sent the flight plans ahead. Your jet was given a false flight plan. Technically, it will never arrive in Ireland. Have your people guessed yet?"

"Maria realized as they boarded. How'd you know?"

"She reminds me of myself."

Mark grinned and turned around to re-board his jet. Cynthia followed suit. As she climbed the stairs, she fought the urge to butcher the woman inside. Garn would receive her comeuppance in due time.

1800 HRS Western European Time (WET)

Private Hangar

Aerfort Bhaile Átha Cliath

Dublin, Ireland

The smell of Irish Spring assaulted Cynthia as she climbed from the plane. Even through the acrid Airport aromas, the fields in bloom reached her. She suddenly felt a quarter-century younger and expected to see Michael smiling at her at the bottom of the stairs. Reality came back as soon as it began to leave and she shouldered her bags.

Her heels clicked loudly in the empty hangar and she placed her bags in the waiting sedan. Garn followed her example and then they both climbed in. Cynthia cranked the car and pealed out of the hangar into the night.

"Boss, are you sure this will work?"

"Anne, unless you want these men to flay you alive, it'd be a good idea for you to trust me."

"Yes ma'am."

They drove in silence as the city lights slowly faded in the distance. Garn nodded off at one point, but awoke when she felt something pinch her leg. She jumped and looked at her boss. Cynthia had her eyes on the road and her hands on the wheel. Still, Garn stayed awake.

Eventually, they turned off the main road and pulled up to an imposing steel gate. Cynthia rolled down her window and pressed a button on a keypad. A gruff Irish voice came over the hidden intercom.

"Name."

"Colleen McDonough."

"Hold."

The man sounded surprised at the name. Seconds later, another voice came over the com.

"Colleen McDonough is dead."

Cynthia laughed.

"Shannon you stupid Mick, let me in. I need to speak with my husband."

Garn glanced at Cynthia's left hand and was surprised to find a large diamond and sapphire ring on her finger. Some rude muttering came from the com, but the gate began to creak open. Cynthia smiled at Garn and drove up the black driveway.

After five minutes, they approached a large 17th century mansion hidden within a glade of tall trees. There were six men standing outside the door waiting. Two were obviously, the other four held automatic weapons and attack dogs.

Cynthia pulled up parallel with them and climbed out of the driver's side to face the men. Garn hesitated for a second, glad she had the car between herself and the dogs.

The dogs, an odd mix between Irish Wolfhounds and German Shepherds, began growling the second Cynthia's foot hit the ground. She barked out an order in German and they sat back on their haunches, silent as the grave. The taller of the two brothers laughed.

"Still 'ave a way with animals don't ye Colleen?"

"Never could get you get you to play dead, could I Michael? And you might as well call me by my real name after twenty-two years. It's Cynthia."

"That it be. That it be. An' who's this girl ye brought with ye, love?"

Cynthia glanced over her shoulder and gestured for Garn to walk around the car. The dogs began growling once more, but Cynthia didn't stop them.

"Introduce yourself."

Garn fearfully glanced at the dogs, but listened to her boss nonetheless.

"Garn. Anne Garn."

The brothers glanced at one another then openly smiled at the women. Michael opened his arms and gestured for them to walk forward.

"Well then ladies, why dontcha join us for a spot o' supper? The family was just about te eat."

Cynthia strode forward confidently, Garn hot on her heels to avoid the dogs. They followed the men inside, through a grand foyer, and into an even grander dining room.

Seated at the table were several men and one woman. All but the woman stood as Cynthia and Garn entered. Cynthia caught the silent woman's eye as she took a seat across from her. Her daughter's face was covered in bandages along the left side and her right arm was held in a cast. The look of terror in Bran's eyes, quickly turned to confidence as Cynthia sat down next to her father at his right hand.

Michael signaled a maid at the far end of the room as he took his seat at the head of the table. He saw the hate in his brother's eyes when Colleen, no, Cynthia sat at his right hand. He glared and Shannon slumped into the seat next to his wife. The other woman sat on Shannon's other side.

As the first course was placed in front of him, Michael fixed a stare on his wife.

"Te what do I owe this visit, love?"

He saw her left hand clench into a fis and noticed the ring on her finger. It was not the one he'd placed there.

"I want to trade, Michael."

"Is tha' right?"

"I refrain from butchering your mole in the CIA," Garn masked a shudder, "and you send my daughter back to the U.S."

Shannon laughed loudly.

"If ye know about the mole, then it has no use for us."

Cynthia turned to him, a smile on her face.

"You know, Shan, you're right."

In one fluid motion she grabbed her steak knife, pushed her chair back, and spun around Shannon to plunge the knife into the back of Garn's neck. Her paralyzed form slumped forward onto the table, knocking over her glass of wine.

"You two kill her. If I'd found Brannagh in worse shape she'd have suffered more."

Michael grinned madly and two of the men sitting at the table stood. Cynthia took her seat as they dragged Garn's prone form from the table. A moment later the growls and barks of dogs could be heard as they fought over their fresh meal.

"Love, ye just lost yer bargaining chip."

Cynthia looked up from her food and glared at him.

"Did I? Well then I guess you'll just have to take me instead."

Michael's eyebrows rose slightly and a smirk appeared on his face. Shannon saw the emotion hidden in his brother's eyes and frowned.

"Is that what yer husband wants, love?"

Cynthia glanced at her ring with a smile.

"No, but if he gets his daughter back he might refrain from coming in here after me."

Hatred consumed Michael as he turned to look at the woman seated on his left side.

"_His_ daugher? From what I learned in Biology, Brannagh is _my_ daughter."

"She stopped being yours the moment you and your pig of a brother used her against me."

Brannagh opened her mouth to speak. Cynthia cut her off.

"Not a word Bran. He may be your father genetically, but when he threatened your life, he lost his rights. As well as his balls. No real man threatens a child. Daniel is your father, and I'll be damned if these stupid fuckin' paddies think they'll keep me from getting you back to him."

"Mom, I was going to agree with you. But that was eloquent, so keep going. I'm having fun now."

Cynthia grinned at her daughter as every man at the table glared at them with murder in their eyes.

"What's with the bandages?"

"O'Conner's lackies broke the rules when my cover was blown. They strung me up in the woods and broke my arm doing it. Then they decided to slice me up as torture. Idiots let me pass out from blood loss. I woke up here in this hell hole."

"Sorry I didn't come sooner. I didn't get the satellite photos 'til a few days ago. And I had to control Liam's breakdown. He tried to yell at me."

"Oh lord, he's not chained to a concrete block in the Potomac is he?"

"No he's working his specialty, as are Dawson and Tariq."

"And the Western Hemisphere hasn't lit up like the Fourth of July? What is wrong with you mother?"

Michael angrily cut Cynthia off.

"I hate te interrupt yer banter ladies, but ye seem te think ye'll see these people again."

Both fixed him with an identical glare. One he'd las seen as Colleen butchered a man's six sons at his feet for three days to make him talk. He suddenly had the distinct urge to let them go. Shannon's grip on his knife caught his attention and he shook his head at his older brother.

"Not now Shannon. I think we should be interested in whoever Colleen, sorry, Cynthia's got fer backup. I wanna meet the new husband."

As if on cue, the bell rang at the front door. Cynthia planted an innocent grin on her face as Bran laughed hysterically. Resisting the urge to strangle the two women, Michael sent the remaining men at the table to find out who it was. Underneath the table he reached for the Sig Hauer he kept taped there. Just as he realized it wasn't there, an explosion rocked the building.

Bran jumped from her chair aiming her father's Sig at Shannon as her mother pinned Michael to the floor. Gunfire erupted all around the property. Michael made a move to throw Cynthia and failed. His brother felt a bullet graze his temple as Bran foiled his escape.

Six people suddenly barged into the room guns raised. One of them ripped his mask off and ran to his daughter. Tony and Maria forced Shannon to the ground and then tied him to one of the chairs. After checking Bran, Dan pulled his wife off of Michael and hugged her. Mark and Tariq flipped him and cuffed him, then tied him to a chair next to his brother. Maria called into the hallway and Dr. Bard entered with Liam. He gave each woman a once-over to check them and changed Bran's bandages.

Once he stepped away, Liam and Emily attacked her while Tariq stood back and smiled at his friends. Cynthia cleared her throat.

"Doctor, if you and my team would escort my daughter home, We have a few minor details to attend to here."

The English man looked upon the Irish brothers with disgust.

"Of course Cynthia. I'll check her in the moment we land."

Cynthia hugged her daughter quickly as she was led away. She waited until she heard the sound of a retreating car then turned on the two men.

"Maria, would you mind removing their gags?"

The woman nodded and ripped the tape away, making sure to take as much hair as possible with it.

"Now if you would like to tell me where my personal effects are, I'd appreciate it."

Michael spat at her. Dan backhanded him.

"That was rude. You shouldn't do things like that to my wife."

"Huh, tell me is she still as much of a whore as she used to be?"

Dan moved to hit him again, but Cynthia placed a hand on his arm. She knelt in front of Shannon and reached out to Mark. He placed a K-bar in her hand. Shannon leaned away from the blade, and Michael began thrashing violently.

2230 HRS WET

April

Rural farm outside Derrypatrick

Contae na Mí (County Meath), Ireland

Muirne Brennan heard the screams echoing across the fields followed by the barking and howling of dogs. She prayed for the souls in such pain and ran to her son's room. He cried as the sounds echoed. Clutching him close to her she sang to block out the sounds. As he finally fell asleep once more the sounds of the tortured souls ended.

The mother whispered a prayer over her son, hoping it would be enough to protect him from whatever prowled the moors tonight.

0100 HRS WET

April 24, 2018

O'Conner Estate

Contae na Mí (County Meath), Ireland

Maria and Tony carried a box out through the half destroyed foyer and to the SUV they'd driven. Placing it in the back, they pulled off their blood stained body armor and changed shirts.

Silently, they drove the several hours to Belfast and boarded a commercial flight back to Washington. The box safely stowed in the checked luggage compartment in the belly of the plane.

0200 HRS WET

April 24, 2018

O'Conner Estate

Contae na Mí (County Meath), Ireland

Dan and Mark stole changes of clothes from the brothers' closets on the third floor. Cynthia hummed to herself in the shower on the second floor, blood running off her body. She finished and was happy to find that Michael had kept their room the same. She put on fresh clothes and makeup, then cleaned out her jewelry and the various family hierlooms stolen from her Gram's house.

Cynthia's mind drifted back to that night. Shannon had butchered her grandmother in front of her. She felt the pain of her ribs cracking as she fought against her restraints. She didn't even stop when one of the ribs punctured her lung. She managed to break free, but Michael shattered her femur and restrained her once more. By then Gram was already dead.

Now, she smiled knowing the infamous "Sons of Aaron" were now being finished off by their dogs. She regretted drugging the poor things with Garn's body, but it had been necessary.

She followed an old route down the stairs to the dog kennels. The poor animals were still half drugged, but gnawing on the various pieces left from her butchering. Knowing Dan was behind her, she stepped into the kennel and picked up a puppy from a litter in the corner. She wrapped it in a towel and strode past her husband without a word. He grinned and closed the gate behind her. Still grinning he followed her through the demolished foyer and into the car Mark had acquired from the garage.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Blood Diamonds**

1500 HRS EST

April 25, 2018

Army CID Headquarters

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

Brannagh played with the small puppy her mother had given her. She lifted the tiny thing into her lap where it promptly jumped up and licked the stitches on her face. Liam laughed at her from the safety of Maria's desk. She sat behind it furiously typing while Tony and Tariq argued over the best restaurant in Cairo. The Doctor, Kate, Dawson all sat discussing the effects of different explosives on the human body.

In the Director's office, Dan, Mark, and Cynthia finished their official briefing to Director Vincent and Cynthia's boss, Director James Callahan. The official reports were filed and sealed.

James Callahan looked at his niece with tired eyes. She would take his place soon and then she would understand the weariness of the job completely. Still, reading between the lines of her official report, he knew she was more than capable of letting the agency evolve into a better entity.

The Red Death had surfaced one last time and the Sons of Aaron had paid dearly for it. Groups worldwide would be more cautious, but highly paranoid and more mistake prone with the threat of the Red Death on their tails.

The elderly man hugged his niece and left, pausing to hug Bran goodbye. It was over for him.

Director Vincent poured four glasses of Bourbon and sat them down on his conference table before taking a seat himself.

"Alright, no more bullshit. I want the details about how those slimy bastards went down."

This elicited a laugh from the other three as they remembered the fine coat of blood and visceral fluid on the dining room floor of the O'Conner estate. Vincent narrowed his eyes, and the other three dived into the details of the story.

At the other end of the table sat a large steel box. The lid stood open and inside were thousands of diamonds.

_**Fin.**_


End file.
